


After the Moonshot

by unwittingcatalyst



Series: Season Two Missing Scenes [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Grief, Post-Episode: s02e14 Moonshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwittingcatalyst/pseuds/unwittingcatalyst
Summary: He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.  Oh that didn’t help his composure.  But what had he said to his grandfather—how men in 2017 actually talked about feelings—well, he probably couldn’t talk about them, or anything at all, right this moment, but composure?  Fuck that.  He put his face in his hands and just cried, as hard as he’d cried right after, when Amaya had held him.





	After the Moonshot

Nate left Amaya in the parlor and stalked off to be alone. He thought, it’s my fault, and he thought of his grandfather’s face, smiling at him through that glass, brave and loving, and he thought what his life might have been if he’d had his grandfather—or his father—that loving when he’d been a kid. If the hollow feeling in him might be gone. And then he thought, I’m selfish for even thinking such a thing, when he’d just seen a man die, just seen his own grandfather die for him.

He walked the hallways of the ship, and ended up in storage. Sometimes various teammates sparred here, but that was unlikely right now, and it suited Nate just fine. He sat on a metal crate. He needed to cry alone. 

When he heard footsteps—long, familiar strides—Nate almost laughed hysterically. He should have known. And, oddly, he was relieved.

“Nate? Are you here?” It was Ray, of course. 

He might as well acknowledge him. “I’m here.”

Ray turned the corner, and Nate found dark serious eyes regarding him, Ray’s entire demeanor full of worry. 

“I’m so sorry. I thought, you shouldn’t be alone right now.” Ray sat next to him. “I mean, unless you want to be. I’ll leave if you need me to.”

“I don’t know,” Nate said, voice thick. It was somehow harder to control how he showed the grief—like he’d done when he’d gone to talk with his father as a kid—with Ray there looking so deeply concerned, with Ray knowing what he’d just gone through, what he’d just lost. “It’s OK. Stay.”

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Oh that didn’t help his composure. But what had he said to his grandfather—how men in 2017 actually talked about feelings—well, he probably couldn’t talk about them, or anything at all, right this moment, but composure? Fuck that. He put his face in his hands and just cried, as hard as he’d cried right after, when Amaya had held him.

The warm hand just stayed there.

After a while, the storm of tears subsided, leaving him feeling exhausted, empty. Still the warm hand was there.

Later, Nate thought how odd it was that Ray, who had a gift for talking, awkwardly, enthusiastically, nervously, or even full of what sounded to Nate like technobabble, also had a gift for silence. 

Nate found himself hesitantly talking—about his father, about his grandfather who he’d barely knew, yet knew he loved. Who he’d wanted to know so much. Who he wanted to have as his father. How that man had shown such pride in him, in a way his father never had. 

He talked about how empty his childhood had been, how much of an asshole his father had been—judgmental, cold—how it had been a hopeless thing to earn his approval, much less any real sign of affection, at least that his younger self had been able to recognize.

How he’d just told his father, as a kid himself, about that father. How he’d told that kid how Nate knew his own father loved him. How he thinks he was probably lying about that—how he in fact knows, feels, no such thing.

“I don’t even have the right to grieve my grandfather. I never even knew him—only saw a glimpse, and turned that into what I needed. This—“ he gestured to the wetness on his hands, looking over at Ray, who regarded him with solemn dark eyes—“this isn’t even really for him. It’s for what I hoped he’d be, what I wanted him to turn my father into. It’s for what I lost a long time ago—what I never really had.”

It felt good to admit that to someone. 

He felt Ray’s hand squeeze his shoulder, and then heard Ray speak, voice full of conviction. “Any way or reason you feel grief, it’s OK. It’s legitimate.”

“Thanks for that.” Nate knew on some intellectual level that Ray was right, but hearing his earnest words helped immensely. Maybe he’d be able to feel they were true sometime. “And—for listening.”

“Of course.”

They stayed there in silence a while, Nate pulling himself together again, and Nate thought how Ray would probably be fine with Nate just crying on his shoulder, with holding him as he did so, knew he’d get no judgment from Ray, only the willingness to be there for him.

But Nate couldn’t do that right now. The wrench inside of him was too raw, and he couldn’t let himself fall apart that much in front of Ray. With Amaya—for some reason that had been different. Not because he’d (maybe) (most likely) fallen for Amaya, but because she was a woman. That was some fucked up gender-related nonsense, Nate knew, but he couldn’t really help it.

Even though he just couldn’t—Nate still felt grateful that if he’d wanted to, he could have. That gratitude made it easy to give in to Ray’s gentle suggestions that he get something to eat and that he get some rest. He let Ray make sure these things happened.


End file.
